Daddy and Daughter Days!
by FantasyBalance
Summary: Join Daughter Elizabeth and Father DeWitt as they get into crazy crack-a-licious hijinks. It's like something your eight-year old son would write if he had discovered your wine cooler. Read it. I dare you.


Elizabeth was bored out of her mind. There were no places she could open a dimensional portal to that would offer her any sort of interesting peep show, and she had come to realize that hopping from one dimension to another is such a bore.

Her father, Booker DeWitt, came through the door.

"Daddy, why don't we put some nylon socks over our heads and rob people?"

Booker had to think about his daughters question long and hard. Why didn't they go out and rob people? It seemed like a perfectly fine proposition, both morally and economically. "Who do you want to rob people, sweetheart?"

Elizabeth had a laundry list of people she would like to see deprived of their income. For starters, she would love to see that smug ass Jessie get what was coming to her. That boy who made fun of her psychic powers in the middle of class, who later was sent to the nurses office for having a pencil lodged into his brain cavity. "I dunno… is there anyone you want to rob, daddy?"

"God."

They both stood in silence, wondering if they had offended anybody. There was no one in the room. They were being very meta. "I would want to rob God," he screamed to the ceiling. "You hear me! You're not safe!"

"I was thinking more like… you know… robbing girls that I don't like."

"So…" this stopped DeWitt dead in his tracks. "Let me see if I've got this clear. You don't want to rob God?"

"No daddy. I don't want to rob God. He doesn't piss me off. I only wanna rob people who piss me off."

"Not poor people, right?"

"No dad. I don't want to rob poor people."

After an hour of back and forth, Elizabeth grabbed some nylon socks which inexplicably were in her sock cabinet for some reason. She forced it down over her father's face, finally shutting him up. She did the same to herself.

"These smell," Booker complained.

"I haven't worn them. They shouldn't smell."

"Did you grab these from another dimension?"

Elizabeth blushed, remembering all of the red lights surrounding her when she made her nylon discovery. "No no, of course not. I would never just pick up strange socks from the street. Whatever are you accusing me of?"

Booker sighed, imagining that they came from a particularly sexy lady. This made the smell a little more bearable. "Which house do you want to rob first, daughter of mine?"

"I dunno. Let's just walk down the street like this and rob whatever tickles our fancy."

And so they left their home, walking down the street of Columbia with nyloned faces. To say that they looked ridiculous would be an insult to ridiculous people. "Just act casual, daddy-o" Elizabeth instructed. "Play it cool and no one will suspect a thing."

"They're all staring at us," Booker chided.

"They're just jealous of this killer new fashion we're sporting. Pretty soon everyone in Columbia will want to stretch nylons over their heads."

"I'm not even sure they sell nylons in Columb-"

"We'll make a shop where they can buy them, alright?!"

Elizabeth stopped in front of the first house, which looked very appealing indeed. There was an old woman on the front porch, rocking back and forth in her rocker. The squeeeek it let out made Elizabeth's eye drums want to bleed. "This is the place!"

"The place for what?" The old woman asked.

"The place where we're going to rob your ass! Dad, hand me my gun."

Booker looked to the old woman, and then to Elizabeth. And then to the old woman, and then back to Elizabeth. Then back to the old woman one last time, and then back to Elizabeth one last time. But then he discovered that this what not the last time. He looked back to the old woman for what was really the last time, and then back to Elizabeth for what was really truly honest to goodness the last time.

"I'm experiencing what you would call a moral quandary," Booker spoke to the old woman's mailbox. "If I side with Elizabeth, that means that I would have to kill this old woman in cold blood and steal all of her things. But if I don't give Elizabeth her gun, that means she won't talk to me for a week and will probably kill the old woman anyways. What should I do?"

The mailbox did not reply, but in Bookers mind, it was chastising him. He just remembered that Elizabeth didn't have a gun. "Daughter, you don't have a gun."

"You were supposed to get me one, dad!"

"Well, I'm sorry. Sometimes when I drop by the gun emporium I get carried away and start thinking only of myself. I really needed that automatic rifle to shoot squirrels in the park."

Elizabeth squinted at the woman in the chair. It continued to creek. "We're just going to have to improvise then. You take care of the old hag while I ruff the place up." Elizabeth opened the gate of the yard and began running to the front door. "DISTRACT HER WITH YOUR FIST!"

"Oh my," the old woman croaked. "It is so nice to have visitors around this time of day. It helps me to think of something more promising than an early death." She chuckled. "But my my, where are my manners. My name is Abigail Pressley. I poop my pants just for fun." She chuckled harder. "Not because I can't hold it in, but because if an old woman poops her pants, everyone feels as though they have to take care of her. It's my secret weapon. A way that I keep people visiting me for longer than an hour."

Booker sat on the porch with the woman, as he heard vases break and cats cry inside. "Your daughter is very lovely, mister. I remember back in the old days when I used to rob houses. Back then there was no such thing as Columbia. We were on the frontier! Sometimes, when it was just me and all of the young gentleman traveling on horseback, I would poop my pants just for fun. I would pretend like I had some sort of gastrointenstinal disease, because that was the only way they would spend more than an hour with me."

Booker could hear Elizabeth cursing up a storm as she stomped on the tile. "Goddamnit! Where is the good stuff!"

"Go to my bedroom," the old woman called. "Third drawer on your left. That's where I keep all of my most cherished belongings."

"Sweet!" Elizabeth scampered to the other end of the end of the house, but not before waving to the old woman from her bedroom window. "Thanks lady! You really are something."

"Robbery is a thing of youth," the woman said as wisely as someone who intentionally poops themselves could. "When you get to my age, robbery is no longer an option. These old brittle bones couldn't handle such excitement, I'm afraid." Elizabeth retreated back into the house, opening the woman's drawers and claiming the prizes within. "Sonny, let me tell you something that someone should have told me a long time ago. Pooping is our greatest defense as human beings. If you don't poop your pants, people's lives are sometimes thrown into the balance. Sometimes, the most responsible thing that we can do is just… well, I think that I've wasted enough of your time." She got up from her chair. "That's a beautiful daughter you have there. Remember what I told you."

Elizabeth emerged from the house just as the old woman entered, fake jewelry and cartons of cigarettes stashed into her palms. She forgot to bring a bag, among all of the other things she had forgotten. "Okay, before we hit up the next house, you gotta buy me a gun. It's no fun unless I can threaten someone at gunpoint."

The woman's words rang in his ear, as suddenly Booker realized what he lacked as a father. 'That's a beautiful daughter you have there. If you don't poop your pants, people's lives are something thrown into the balance.'

"Daughter, I think that one house is enough for today."

Elizabeth quirked her eyebrow at him. "And I say that twelve houses isn't enough today. No no, a hundred houses isn't enough! It isn't enough until everyone else has been robbed and they suspect us and I have to sacrifice you to the cops and say that I was only an accomplice. You'll be in prison for a long time, but they'll send me to the lady jail where we gossip about men and explore our deeply hidden lesbian desires. I'll get out early for good behavior, but you won't be so lucky. Because you're a man, and I'm a girl. Then me and my lesbian posse from the prison will form a band of misfits that will rob Columbia for every single penny that i-"

Something loud and unpleasant struck Elizabeth's ear. Like someone had rubbed their sweaty hands all over an inflated balloon. Then something smelly and unpleasant struck Elizabeth's nose. "Dad, did you jus-"

"I pooped my pants!" Booker proclaimed loudly and proudly, loud enough for everyone on the street to hear.

"Oh… my… god…" Elizabeth thought that she might throw up from the mere thought of it. "Okay okay, no robberies today. Let's get you home and… oh my god IT'S RUNNING DOWN YOUR LEG!"

The father and daughter duo left the scene of the crime, as the old woman watched from her window. "Take care of her, sonny. You have heeded my advice well."

X-X-X-X-X

_**Author's Notes:**_

_**Blah blah blah enter pretentious thing about how I'll stop writing unless I get reviews blah blah blah enter thing about being gentle since this is my first fic even though I've written a hundred of them blah blah blah…. Blah… blah blah blah… really, would you even be interested if there was a real Author's Notes to this story? I mean, what kind of bored pathetic twenty-something loser would write a story like this…**_

_**…I guess this one… I'm going to go drink four Hard Pink Lemonades and think about my life.**_


End file.
